


Skebnetråder

by ayumie



Category: Ragnarok (TV 2020)
Genre: (past) trauma, Eventual Smut, First Time, Flashbacks, Incest, Laurits is Loki, M/M, Missing Scenes, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Season 1 Spoilers, Slow Burn, angsty bits, can't escape fate, established past Thor/Loki, season 1 with a twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25014586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayumie/pseuds/ayumie
Summary: In which Laurits realizes he's Loki about halfway through season 1 - which goes about as well as can be expected. Pretty much follows the rest of the episodes with a few aditional scenes and a Magne/Laurits twist. Because there's no escaping the past.Sets in right after the dinner party at Jutulheim...
Relationships: Laurits Seier/Magne Seier
Comments: 15
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The flashbacks scattered through the chapters are (loosely) based on norse mythology - I'll be adding links to the respective legends in case anyone wants to read up on them. In terms of abilities, I'm going with Loki being essentially a shapeshifter with some extra strength/speed/healing thrown in along the lines of the Jutuls. 
> 
> Skebnetråder: The threads of fate spun, measured and cut by the Norns for every living thing.
> 
> This story will have five chapters, all of which are already completed in rough drafts. There'll be weekly updates, since I still have to do some editing. Dear HotaruMuraki: Thank you so much for beta-reading and bearing my constant whining on skype. I blame the show. If only those boys would behave, things would be so much easier.
> 
> Feedback is always welcome!

Ran had driven them home. It was not the most fortunate choice, but given how the evening had progressed there hadn't been a real alternative. Luckily Magne seemed to have forgotten about the arm-wrestling match altogether and reverted to a drunken state of euphoria. He had spent most of the ride lolling in the backseat with a goofy smile on his face. Getting him (quietly) into the house and (quietly) up the stairs was a different matter entirely. It didn't help that Laurits was feeling more than a little out of it himself. At some point the evening had taken on a dream-like quality. He remembered Saxa of all people offering him mead, the taste of it like sweet fire in his mouth. Had Magne truly thrown an ax? It made no sense at all, except that he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow it did. Everything would make sense, if he could only capture the thoughts dancing along the edge of his consciousness.

Somehow Laurits managed to prod his brother into his room and onto the bed, praying that the rickety contraption wouldn't collapse as that big body pretty much crashed down. At least their mother was fast asleep in front of the TV downstairs. Magne still looked happier than he had ever since they had moved to Edda. Even his abortive attempts to get his own shoes off were sending him into fits of giggling. With an exasperated sigh, Laurits pulled up the trash bin in case his brother needed to throw up and briefly sneaked down into the kitchen to fetch a bottle of water. By the time he got back, Magne seemed to have fallen asleep, lips curving into a wide smile, hair falling messily into his face. He was clutching a worn sneaker in his right hand and, looking at the pale, unmarked skin, Laurits frowned. Magne's hand had been smashed through a solid wood tabletop. It had been. As if in response to that thought, the sneaker clattered to the ground and strong fingers closed around Laurits's wrist. Magne's eyes were open, startlingly intense and very blue.

„It's you.“

Only he didn't feel like himself at all. It was a bit like the dance at school when Fjor's strange music had stirred something brilliant and terrifying in his mind and body. For a moment, he had it. He felt like laughing and, without conscious thought, Laurits lips pulled into a smile. Then he was jerked forward and against a warm mouth. The kiss was confident and achingly familiar, like falling back into a well-known pattern of lips and teeth and tongue. Suddenly dizzy, Laurits found that his eyes were closed and he was digging his teeth into the generous curve of a lower lip hard enough to hurt, knowing – _knowing –_ that this was what he always did. The thought was enough to make him jolt up and wrench his wrist from Magne's grasp. Magne. His brother. Laurits stumbled backwards, almost tripping over his own feet. He was drunk. Drunk and tired and imagining things, like the way those implacable eyes were still fixed on him, not at all discomfited, following as he all but fled from the room. Later, in his own bed, Laurits slept fitfully. His thoughts had kept circling no matter how hard he'd tried to shut them down, reaching for something he had no name for. He dreamed of kissing. 

*

_It wasn't quite dark, the sun yellow and red where it hung low in the sky, not quite sinking below the horizon. In spite of the eerie light the air was cool on his skin wherever he wasn't touching Thor. He pushed himself up, lips swollen and tingling, gasping to draw air into his lungs. It'd be so good to continue this, to keep kissing and touching in this sweet, sun-drenched half-night until they were both sweaty and breathless and utterly satisfied. When Thor would have pulled him back down, he swatted his hands away._

“ _Sorry. Gotta go.”_

_The look of utter incredulity on that handsome face was amusing. It had probably never happened before, what with women swooning into his arms wherever he went._

“ _W-what?”_

“ _I have something to take care of. You know, important things. Not like-”_

_He didn't get any further, because Thor was reaching for him again and he had to twist away, laughing so hard he almost let himself get caught. And then he was caught and borne down and kissed again, Thor's mouth hard and hungry and rough with desire. He had been lying. There was nothing more important than this. Not ever. All else was just pretense._


	2. Chapter 2

Laurits kept wondering whether he was truly supposed to enjoy sharing a cramped tent with three of his snoring, farting classmates on top of a godforsaken mountain. With the Jutuls sponsoring their trip, couldn't they have gone somewhere fun instead? There hadn't been much to do once they'd set up camp, so he'd had to devise his own amusements. That had gone well, for a while. Rummaging through his new backpack for cigarettes, Laurits watched uneasily as Fjor and Gry went by. Magne wouldn't be happy. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about what he'd done earlier, pointing his finger at his brother and asking a cruel question, knowing without doubt that Magne would tell the truth. It had been a joke, mostly, for all that the stricken look on Gry's face had been deeply satisfying. Not that he cared. Magne himself had barely looked at him, all but oblivious to the gasps and titters of the people around them. Perhaps, Laurits thought nastily, he was simply used to being laughed at. He drew a deep breath and dropped his backpack, giving up on the cigarettes for the moment. It wasn't like he'd planned any of it, but then Magne had shown up at the perfect moment and he'd been acting so weird lately, culminating in that strange dinner at the Jutul's place and he didn't even seem to remember- No. He couldn't think about that now.

Hurriedly looking for something to distract him, Laurits made to check his phone only to find that he had no reception. He really hated this fucking mountain.

“Have you seen Gry?”

Refusing to as much as turn fully, Laurits glanced over his shoulder with studied nonchalance. Magne's shoulders were rigid with tension, worry and anger warring in his eyes. For a moment Laurits considered lying, but the truth was too good to hold back.

“She's with Fjor.”

Instantly Magne's brow furrowed, a new note of alarm entering into his voice.

“Fjor? What's he doing here?”

“I don't know. He came to pick her up and they went that way. They wanted to go paragliding.”

Without another word, Magne turned and ran towards the ridge Fjor and Gry were climbing. Something stirred in Laurits, a low, harsh thrum that made him want to twist the knife.

“I think she's made her choice,” he called after his brother, not quite managing to keep his tone as bored as he wanted it to be. Laurits was still trying to get his phone to work when a gray shadow streaked past him. A shiver went down his spine as his mind struggled to process what he had just glimpsed. Something from a nightmare, the shape of a dog, but bigger, darker, wrong somehow, all fangs and claws and glowing eyes. It was going after Magne. He couldn't have said how he knew, but he did and, driven by the sudden pressure growing behind his eyes, Laurits slipped his phone into his pocket and started to run. The creature was fast. Heart hammering in his chest, he fell back, muscles trembling as he gasped for breath and then, suddenly, it felt like something snapped into place. He was _running,_ body joyously light as the ground seemed to flow beneath him, feet always landing just right although he was moving recklessly over rocks and wet grass and bushes. He barely made it in time. The thing was on top of Magne, all bristling gray fur and snapping jaws as it went for his throat. Laurits's breath caught as he watched his brother beat at the creature's head and, with a scream that held the crackle of lightning, Magne reached up and wrenched those massive jaws apart. Blood splattered his face as the thing writhed and died, shrinking until it was just a dog. The Jutuls's dog. With a grunt, Magne flung the corpse aside and started to struggle to his feet, swaying unsteadily for a moment. Holy fucking shit. Heart thudding in his throat, Laurits made himself move. His head was spinning with broken thoughts as he caught his brother's arm.

“Magne-”

He broke off because the name sounded wrong somehow and, quite frankly, because he had no idea what to say. They could hide the dead dog, he supposed, sneak back to the others, clean up and pretend nothing had happened.

“I need to find Gry.”

Which was so not a good idea. Resisting the urge to shake his brother, Laurits flung the words that were forming like daggers in his mind instead.

“I told you, she's with Fjor. They'll be back in Edda by already. He's probably fucking her right now and-”

“ _ **Stop it**_!”

There was something close to desperation in Magne's voice, but it was the words themselves that made the dull ache behind Laurits's eyes shatter. The Old Language. Fjor had said that in the car just a few days ago and-

“Thor,” he heard himself whisper and he was stepping closer instead of pulling away. There had been another woman once, beautiful and fair-haired, and he had stolen something from her. He remembered cutting the shining glory of her curls. He remembered-

*

_He stretched slowly, savoring the rare ache and burn of his muscles. One arm flung carelessly over his head, he knew he looked utterly debauched, skin sweat-slick and gleaming, hair falling messily over eyes that were surely_ _dark and glittering. His plan had worked beautifully. Thor's hands were still on his body, fingers splayed to cover the marks he had left earlier._

_'Why aren't these healing?'_

_Bruises were forming on his wrists and hips and thighs and a bite marked throbbed dully on the vulnerable flesh of his throat. Swollen lips pulling into a lazy smile, he blinked up at Thor._

_'I thought you might like them to stay for a bit. You are angry at me, after all.'_

_Instantly, Thor's brow furrowed._

_'You will fix this.'_

_Laughter bubbled in his chest, joyous and irresistible._

_'It was just too good an opportunity to pass up. I would have loved to see her face when she woke up. Did she weep when she told you?”_

_Thunder rumbled overhead and he half-expected those big hands to tighten and press fresh marks into his skin. Perhaps to flip him over and pin him once more, for all that by all rights both of them ought to be sated. The anger was fading from Thor's eyes, though, leaving them earnest and very blue._

_'You_ will _fix this, Loki. Tomorrow.”_

_His breath hitched as Thor caught his wrist and drew it to his mouth. Soft, butterfly kisses were scattered over bruised skin and- Oh. Perhaps he would fix things after all. Perhaps he would find a way to do even better than that._

_*_

They were staring at each other in shock. In horrified recognition. But Magne hadn't seen-? Surely he couldn't have-?Except that he was flushing furiously, all but pitching over in his haste to get away. Laurits stayed rooted to the spot as he watched his brother start down the mountain. Eventually his knees buckled and he slid to the ground. Rain was starting to fall, slating and icy. Ginunngagap. The place where the world was made. Kneeling on the rocky ground, clothes drenched by the driving rain, Laurits remembered. He retched violently, tasting bile as the quicksilver leaps of his mind threatened to spin out of control. Clenching his fists into the cold dirt, he forced himself to draw a deep breath. The air tasted cool and fresh and full of promise. Carefully blunting the edges of his thoughts, he got to his feet. He could do this. He could _be_ this. He just needed a little time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The legend regarding Loki and Sif's hair can be found [here](https://courses.district287.org/mod/book/view.php?id=198115)


	3. Chapter 3

Laurits was lying on his bed, earphones firmly in place as he flicked through a playlist that didn't quite fit his mood. He had drawn the blinds so the flicker of his cellphone was the only light in the room. It felt nicely melodramatic. With Turid out at the supermarket yet again, the house had an empty feel to it. Magne … hadn't been around much. He hadn't been around at all, really, all but bolting from the house in the morning and returning as late as he dared to sneak straight back into his room. As much as Magne was capable of sneaking, considering his size and the creaking floorboards. At first, Laurits hadn't minded. It wasn't like he didn't have his own problems to worry about and, after all, it wasn't like his brother would be able to stay away forever. His brother. It was a fucking joke. A cruel, obscene, brilliant joke and a part of Laurits hoped that someone, somewhere was laughing their ass off at his expense. Most of the other parts felt like banging his head against the nearest wall and cursing in every language he could think of whenever he considered the matter.

The floorboards were creaking again, only this time the sound suddenly stopped. Laurits barely had time to stuff the book on northern mythology he had filched from Magne's room under the pillow before the door opened. Light from the hallway was spilling around his brother's big frame and, realizing that he was at a disadvantage, Laurits switched on the lamp on his nightstand. Trying to calm the nervous twist in his belly, he took a moment to fiddle with his phone and earphones. The music stopped as Magne closed the door behind himself. When they had been smaller they had shared a room, shared toys and adventures, but those times were long past. Laurits couldn't remember the last time they had hung out together – certainly not since they had come to Edda. He drew up his legs, making space at the foot of his bed. His brother briefly glanced around the room, taking in the messy mix of clothes, books and knickknacks that cluttered every other available surface. After a moment, Magne moved to sit on the bed. He had always been brave. Pressing his back against the headboard to steady himself, Laurits waited. In spite of the effort he'd made to untangle the layers of his memory, it was disconcerting to look at that face and see not only the present but all of the history that had been branded into his mind. But then, it didn't really matter just yet. After all, he had decided that it pleased him well enough to be Laurits for the time being.

Magne kept staring straight ahead, face pale, jaw set. He was twisting one of his old Tangles between his fingers.

“I'm going to see a psychiatrist tomorrow. Mom is- You've seen her. I have to do this for her.”

Everybody was talking about it at school: Magne had smashed the windshield of Vidar Jutul's car. Magne had killed the Jutuls's dog. Magne was crazy. Magne was dangerous. It was damnably clever. Feigning indifference, Laurits shrugged.

“Maybe don't lead with telling them how far you can throw a hammer. It makes you sound crazy.”

It had sounded crazy. It sounded crazy now. Magne made a strangled noise that sounded like something between a chuckle and a sob.

“I feel like I _am_ going crazy. Just … I need you to promise me one thing. If something goes wrong, if the Jutuls don't stop, you have to take care of Mom. Protect her, I mean. She's- I tried to tell her. About what's going on. You have to make her listen. You … you can do that, right?”

A number of glib retorts were on the tip of Laurits's tongue, starting with the question just how he was supposed to get their mother to do, well, anything. Anyone else, sure. But Turid was … Mom. He swallowed the words down. Magne wasn't really going to let them drug him or lock him away, was he? It didn't seem possible. Not Thor, golden and glorious until the very end. It'd be a desecration. 'I will now allow it,' Laurits found himself wanting to say. 'I will ruin them one by one, Ran and Vidar and Fjor and Saxa, before I allow such a thing to happen. I may ave wanted to see you bloodied and broken at my feet, but not like this. Never like this.' Eyes skidding away, Laurits shifted.

“All right.”

“Swear it. Really swear it.”

So he did. The words came effortlessly, heavy in the way the Old Language always felt. Some of the tension went out of Magne's body, but he still didn't turn, still wouldn't look up. The Tangle gave a pained creak. Then, so low it was hard to make out the words:

“I'm sorry,”

Laurits blinked.

“What for?”

“For kissing you the other night. For leaving you like that on the mountain. For- for what I did- What we saw...”

It was maddening, the way Magne wouldn't look up, wouldn't turn to face him, because for once Laurits had no idea what was going on. Sorry for the kiss? Yeah, maybe. Sorry it had happened in the first place, because everything was fucked up now. Sorry for up and leaving when he should have been dumping that dog's body at the foot of a cliff? He better had be. But the other thing? The … vision? Laurits shifted uncomfortably, suddenly acutely aware that his feet were bare and inches from his brother's thigh. He didn't like being blindsided. What was even worse was that he had no one to blame but himself. He hadn't _wanted_ to think about Magne's reaction to, well, any of it. Magne, who had never even had a girlfriend, who got hopelessly embarrassed when teased about watching porn, who had a crush on sweet, boring Gry. But inexperience didn't explain why his brother's body language reminded him of nothing as much as that time in third grade when Magne had accidentally broken the arm of some kid in a playground fight. Unless- Laurits drew a sharp breath.

“How much do you remember?”

Mage shrugged uncomfortably, but he didn't lie. Of course he didn't.

“Not much.”

It took a few moments for the implications to sink in and then Laurits was laughing helplessly, head banging against the headboard as he half-collapsed. Magne gave an offended huff, clearly not getting what was so fucking hilarious. When he made to get up, Laurits quickly straightened.

“Don't! Magne, don't be so touchy. It's just- You see, you've got your powers and don't remember a thing and I remember, but can't do shit.”

He cut himself off, not quite sure it had been clever to admit as much, but at least Magne subsided. They sat in silence for a few moments. Finally Laurits breathed an exasperated sigh and nudged his brother's leg with his foot.

“You can look at me, you know.”

Just on this side of impatient, because, damn it, he needed Magne to look at him.

“I – can't.”

And, just like that, it felt like some sort of combustive quality in his blood ignited and he _knew_ what Magne wasn't saying: 'I can't look at you and not want to touch.' 'I can't look at you and not _want.'_ Because some things didn't change and while Magne was Magne, he was also something else altogether. A small thrill of excitement shivered down Laurits's spine. He shouldn't push this. He really shouldn't. But he was also who he was. He slid his foot forward until he felt his brother's thigh flex.

“You can look at me.”

It sounded breathless, not nearly as confident as he would have liked, and maybe that was what did the trick. It was a shock to meet those eyes. Laurits didn't know what he had been expecting. Not this. For all the problems his temper kept causing, with Magne everything was clear-cut, black and white, right and wrong. He didn't deal in nuances. Now it was all anger and resignation and shame and guilt and something hotter, hungrier twisting beneath it. The bed suddenly seemed too small, his brother so close it was difficult to think clearly. Laurits quickly looked away.

“It's not- You needn't apologize. What you saw in that vision – it wasn't you. You've read up on us, right? It was me. It's always been me.”

Magne didn't look convinced, for all that he seemed to relax minutely. For a moment Laurits thought his brother was going to ask more questions he really didn't want to answer, but thankfully none came. Magne really ought to start watching porn. Maybe he'd borrow his laptop and leave a few bookmarks. The idea helped for a bit. He needed some kind of distraction, anything to make things feel less … raw. Picking up his phone, Laurits quickly connected it to the portable speaker currently residing on his desk and put on one of Fjor's songs. Magne drew a sharp breath as the music roared to life and the Old Language filled the room.

“What's that?”

“Fjor's music. It's something else, right? Although I didn't know whether it would be the same for you.”

Magne looked like he couldn't quite decide whether or not he liked what he was hearing, but he leaned back to sit more comfortably, stretching out his legs and dropping his poor, abused Tangle into his lap. It was a miracle the damn thing had survived the last minutes. Laurits felt the tension drain out of his nape and shoulders as the rhythm of the song thrummed through him. He let his eyes drift shut, very much aware that Magne kept glancing at him. At least they weren't fighting. Bad things tended to happen when they did.

“Where did you go after the party?”

Not bothering to open his eyes, Laurits frowned.

“What?”

“After the party at school. You didn't come home until the next morning. Gry said Fjor also left early.”

There was an edge to his brother's voice he couldn't quite place. Alarm shivered down Laurits's back. Magne couldn't have found out about the incident at Isolde's memorial, could he?

“We went to a cabin and hung out. Just a few of the guys.”

“Which guys?”

“The guys. From school. You know who I hang out with.”

Perhaps he should have lied, because the answer – evasive as it had been – didn't seem to make Magne happy. Where was this even coming from? It wasn't like Magne had ever shown any interest in coming along to that kind of thing. Except that suddenly a new idea occurred to him, shocking and altogether too delicious to ignore. He couldn't possibly be expected not to say anything.

“If you want to know whether I fucked Fjor, just ask.”

He hadn't, hadn't even tried all that hard, what with everything else going on. Not that he was about to admit as much. Magne's jaw tensed, but he didn't say anything, not admitting that this was what he really wanted to know, but not quite denying it either. The next song was slower, low and crooning. He felt more than saw Magne shift, one hand dropping to brush against Laurits's bare foot. He kept very still as warm fingers curled around his ankle, not daring to do or say anything that might break the spell. They sat quietly, cradled by ancient words of loss and longing.

Thor wouldn't hesitate to take what he wanted. He'd slid his hand up his calf and grip and pull until he was sprawled on his back. Then that big body would surge above him and press between his thighs and- Thor was Magne now. His brother. His big, awkward brother with his temper tantrums and his stubborn determination to do the right thing. It should make a difference. It didn't. Laurits let out a slow breath as his mind stuttered to a halt. He couldn't delay facing the truth any longer. He was Laurits and he was Loki and if Magne were to kiss him now he would kiss him right back. It would be as it had always been, consuming and bitter and achingly sweet.

*

_It had been a pleasant enough evening after a long day on the road. They had been made welcome at the fire, had been offered food and mead and companionship and a warm bed in the best room, hastily vacated by their hosts as soon as they realized who had come to their hall. If Thor had been uncharacteristically quiet, well, he had been too busy flirting with one of the servant girls to pay him much mind. None of which explained why he suddenly found himself pinned by Thor's weight, mouth claimed in a bruising kiss. It was a terrible, dangerous idea. It was utterly irresistible and his body was responding with instant, mindless desire, arching frantically to rub against the strong thigh pressing between his legs. Why hadn't_ he _thought of this? Thor was already tugging at their clothes, hands rough and impatient and utterly inefficient as he tried to touch everywhere at once._

“ _Mine.”_

_Thor's voice was rough with desire and finally skin was sliding against skin, heated and sweaty and glorious. Maybe he ought to be making this more difficult, make Thor work for it, but he couldn't summon the will to do so. It felt too perfect, too_ wrong  _to be anything but right and why_ hadn't  _he thought of this? Then slick fingers were pressing into him, pushing deep, knuckles dragging against the rim of his opening, and his thoughts derailed once more._

“ _Mine,” Thor growled again and settled between his legs, pinning one of his hands above his head like he was afraid he might slip through his fingers even now. The first thrust was enough to drag a harsh, broken gasp from him, body going taut as he couldn't help but throw back his head. Thor, too, was shuddering, face pressed against the bend of his neck, lips moving against the vulnerable skin of his throat._

“ _Mine. Always.”_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we have reached the season finale!
> 
> Just a quick additional warning about the flashback at the end of the chapter: Things are (inevitably) taking a darker turn following [The death of Balder](https://www.thoughtco.com/the-death-of-balder-112364) and while we are not quite in non-con territory, the paragraph contains sexual imagery that might be disturbing. It's not really plot relevant, so if that kind of thing bothers you, you can just skip it.

Laurits stared at himself in the mirror of the small public restroom. He had already changed out of the dress, which was currently residing in a plastic bag at his feet, and scrubbed most of the make up off his face. His hair looked weird, though, too pale, too alien, as it fell in a untidy tangle into his face. Even without blush and highlighter it made the cast of his features seem subtly different, eyes huge, the curve of jaw and nose delicate rather than sharp. Laurits grimaced at his own reflection. There wasn't much he could do about any of it, except pull up the hood of his jacket. He'd have to get Gry's mom to redye his hair some time soon. Or maybe do it himself, since she was friends with Ran Jutul. Everything had worked out beautifully, although both Fjor and Vidar had left too early to see the show. Never mind, somebody was bound to have filmed the whole thing. A small shiver went down his spine as he remembered the thrill of standing on the stage and delivering his carefully rehearsed performance. Ran Jutul's face had been white with rage as the crowd had whispered and giggled behind her back. And of course she'd been forced to sit through the whole thing, knowing that trying to drag him off the stage or even just leaving would make her look so much worse. It had been fucking genius.

“What the hell were you doing out there?”

The door banged open to reveal Saxa, fists clenched at her sides like she was wishing for a weapon. She probably was. Deliberately relaxing his stance, Laurits leaned against the sink and tilted his head.

“What did it look like?”

Her jaw clenched, perfect pale skin flushing blotchy like the rage writhing in her veins might break free and shatter the pretty illusion. Saxa quickly mastered herself, though, stepping up next to him to check her headdress in the mirror.

“You don't even like your brother.”

Her tone had changed from open anger to calculated indifference. He almost laughed. 'Like'? No, he didn't particularly like Magne – nor Thor, for that matter. You didn't 'like' a force of nature. Laurits made himself hold his ground even as he felt an unwelcome frisson of fear. Saxa was too close and he could only guess just how much strength her slender body held. Once he would have been able to confront her for real, fight her, if necessary. The power he needed was still there, he was sure of that, but it seemed to hover just out of reach, refusing to be drawn to his grasping fingertips. All he could do was bluff. Laurits straightened, feeling the confidence he needed seep into his stance. That, at least, wasn't beyond him.

“Let's cut to the chase. If Magne keeps getting into trouble, my Mom's going to make us move again and I like Edda. I'm not going anywhere. We both know you couldn't beat Magne in a fair fight and you sure as hell can't beat me in an unfair one. So I suggest you and your family back the fuck off.”

Saxa was staring at him, blue eyes wide. If she were to grip the sink any tighter, she'd end up cracking the porcelain.

“You- your hair.”

Laurits glanced at the mirror. It did look like his hair had gone a shade darker. Just as well. The sudden roar of thunder was deafening and almost at the same time the first heavy drops of rain splattered against the door. He met Saxa's eyes and grinned.

“Maybe you should look for Fjor and your dad. It's dangerous to be outside in a thunderstorm.”

Saxa didn't say anything as he picked up his bag and stepped around her. The rain was icy and by the time he got home, he was sure he looked as bedraggled as he felt.

Magne arrived almost at the same time. He was looking even worse, clothes singed and bloody, wet hair plastered to his skull. He _smelled_ scorched. Laurits blinked, a belated rush of fear shivering down his spine. He'd just been trying to scare Saxa. He hadn't really thought- Then Magne was against him and he had a split second to register lightning dancing in those blue eyes before he was pulled into a tight embrace. Laurits didn't try to pull away as his brother buried his face against his neck, one hand sneaking beneath the hem of jacket and T-Shirt to settle against the small of his back. Magne's body was very warm, brimming with the energy he remembered so well.

“I think I killed Vidar.”

Almost too low to make out and he should probably be shocked. He _was_ shocked, in a way, but it also felt like this had been coming for a long time. Ever since they had moved to Edda. Ever since Thor had been woken and Isolde had died. Fate. A thread spun into a snare.

“How?” he finally managed and, please, let him not have beaten Vidar to death with his bare hands or bashed his head in with a hammer.

“I called down lightning. He … he wasn't moving when I left.”

Good. That was good. He might not even be really dead. Giants were hard to kill. And even if he was, the police wouldn't think of it as murder. Magne's voice was trembling a little, riding a thin edge between panic and exhilaration. Laurits squeezed his eyes shut as, belatedly, adrenaline crashed through him. He wanted to shout at Magne for being stupid, stupid, stupid. He wanted to lick the blood of his lips and kiss and bite and _hurt_. He wanted to cry. That last thought brought him up short and, drawing a deep breath, Laurits did try to pull away. When his brother wouldn't let him, he punched his shoulder.

“Let go, idiot. You need to clean up. Get rid of those clothes. You look like shit.”

That got him a weak smile. After another moment, Magne obediently let go of him and moved towards the stairs. In the dim light of the hallway, Laurits took a moment to curse under his breath. Then he finally toed off his soaked sneakers. It'd be all right. The shower was already running by the time he made it back to his own room. He found a clean towel and dried himself off as best he could before changing into loose sweatpants and a fresh T-shirt. When he caught a strand of hair between his fingers and squinted at it, he wasn't altogether surprised to find that it was dark again. Such a small change, barely anything at all, compared to what he had once been able to do without giving it much thought. Laurits briefly closed his eyes, trying to recall the freedom of flying. At the sound of the door opening, he quickly looked up. Magne was dressed much the same as he was, but the crackle of energy was still about him. He was moving slowly, like someone wading through deep water.

“Where's Mom?”

“She's having coffee with Erik. She, uh, she'll be back later.”

Hopefully she'd have calmed down by then, Laurits thought uncomfortably. But Magne didn't need to hear about that right now. Magne needed- He did not know what Magne needed. For once his face was shuttered, unreadable, and Laurits found himself watching warily as he moved to sit on the bed. Thor would be laughing, reveling in his triumph, wanting to fuck, expel the power that was even now curling under Magne's skin. The silence felt heavy, oppressive, not at all like the way they had sat together only a few days ago. He didn't dare to move, afraid that anything he might say or do would tip the scales into chaos. If Magne were to snap, were to loose control altogether- 

Finally Laurits couldn't stand it any longer. He did start to talk, then, asking careful questions and, when he didn't get any answers, describing his own jab at Ran Jutul. At first he wasn't sure his brother was even listening, but gradually the tense line of his shoulders seemed to relax a little and by the time he looked up, the flare of lightning was gone from his eyes. They were still bright, though, almost feverish.

“I want to kiss you.”

It didn't feel like a choice. Laurits didn't move as warm fingertips ghosted over his cheek and jaw before curling around his nape. He could smell ozone in the air, feel the power of the storm outside raging in his brother's body. When Magne leaned in and kissed him, his mouth was as gentle as his touch had been, not at all like the onslaught he had been half-expecting, not at all like something he knew how to deal with. For a wild moment, he wondered whether his brother was thinking of Gry, whether this might be how he had thought to kiss her. Part of him did want to pull away then, or perhaps bite down hard. As if in response to his thoughts, Magne whispered his name, voice raw and desperate. Fingers slid into his hair, tilting his head for another, deeper kiss. Laurits heard himself make a small, needy sound, shifting to get a better angle. He was balanced precariously, not quite prepared for the sudden press of Magne's weight and from one second to the next both of them were tumbling backwards.

They ended up lying entangled in the too small bed, gasping as knees and elbows collided awkwardly and in spite of everything he sometimes forgot how big Magne was. Then instinct kicked in and he was reaching up to grasp at broad shoulders, legs falling open, one knee drawn up to allow better access. Like missing pieces of a puzzle, like the Norns's threads - gossamer and unbreakable and drawn tight around them - and he couldn't deny what they were together. He didn't even want to. Looking up, he saw the same inescapable certainty in his brother's eyes.

The sound of the house door banging shut made both of them flinch. Turid. Too soon. Far too soon and they hadn't even really done anything. When his brother tried to pull away, Laurits grabbed the front of his shirt, keeping him in place.

“Promise me you won't tell her anything.”

The blue eyes blinking down at him were still hazy with arousal, pupils blown, unfocused.

“W-what?”

“You can't tell anyone. About the lightning thing. About what happened with Fjor and Vidar. Promise me.”

“Gry might know already. She and Fjor were there when I fought Vidar. They left together. I don't know what he told her.”

Of course she'd have been there. Laurits impatiently shook his head even as he slotted that piece of information away for further use.

“Then she's his problem. Just fucking promise already. Unless you want Mom to walk in on us like this.”

Throwing a slightly panicked glance at the door, Magne finally nodded in grudging agreement. He looked utterly tempting, wide-eyed and disheveled and, pushing himself up, Laurits claimed another quick kiss. When he let himself drop back onto the bed, he fully expected his brother to bolt from the room. Magne merely retreated to the desk, though, shoving a pile of clothes to the floor so he could sit down. Downstairs Turid was moving around, hallway to kitchen and back again. Laurits scooted up so that he could sit with his back against the headboard. He glanced at his brother.

“I can deal with Mom, you know.”

Magne shook his head, fingers flexing in his lap like he was wishing he had his Tangle.

“She's mad at you because you've been sticking up for me. Besides, it's raining into my room.”

“What?!”

“I punched a hole into the roof. I … I stuck a poster over it, but it's been raining a lot and-”

Laurits burst out laughing. It was such a stupid, Magne thing to do and, God- “She's going to kill both of us.”

Magne was grinning tiredly even as he nodded in agreement and, looking at his brother, Laurits felt something painful catch in his chest. Saxa had been wrong, he realized. What was worse, he had not been entirely honest with himself. He _did_ like Magne, even when he was being stubborn and awkward and so inconveniently honest. Suddenly he found himself wishing that his brother wouldn't regain his memory any time soon. Not all of it.

*

_That last time under the trembling stars. He had gone to find Thor, then, not quite sure he wouldn't be slain on sight. But the great god had simply stared like he was seeing a ghost, transfixed as Loki drew closer. He'd had to rise on his tiptoes to whisper poison into Thor's ear, hand worming under armor and cloth and – 'How about a last fuck for old times' sake? You know what it means that I am free. You could have me right here, on my knees in the dirt, helpless. Would that be good for you? To punish me for everything I have done? I'll even beg for mercy. You'd like that, wouldn't you?' Oh, yes. Thor had gotten so hard, so fast it had been almost like magic, and then he had been on his knees, face down in the dirt. He had had to suppress laughter even as one of his arms was twisted painfully behind his back. Then his trousers had been pulled down and although he had taken the time to slick himself before coming here, the first thrust had still been enough to drag a scream from his throat. Thor had never paused, using his cock like a damned battering ram and it felt so good. He had begged then, prettily, just as he had promised. 'Oh, please! Please stop! It hurts so bad. Please, Thor, please! Pull it out just a little. I can't take it. I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me!' It had spurred Thor on like it had been meant to, hips pistoning to pound his cock into his abused hole until he had been reduced to sobbing gasps, seed splattering onto the ground as he had come untouched. Soon after he had left Thor looking dazed and sickened with a kiss on his lips and a sweet murmur of thanks._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand this is it - for the time being, at least. Depending on how season 2 turns out, I might do additional chapters. We'll see! 
> 
> With this chapter we're also in smut territory. I went back and forth on whether to include the (in real life very important!) safe sex routine, but ultimately decided against it. We're talking Norse Gods, after all. If a snowplow doesn't do any damage, I very much doubt STDs are an issue. Anyway, please enjoy!

The hike to the cabin was supposed to take two hours. Even laden with cleaning supplies, tools and materials, they made it in one. Cabin, Laurits thought, as he eyed the decrepit structure, didn't quite fit the bill. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting to buy it even if they did pretty it up. Magne, too, looked doubtful as he shucked his backpack.

“We could start with getting everything outside. Maybe it's not as bad as it looks.”

Dropping his own backpack, Laurits snorted. He wandered around for a while, poking around the edges of the clearing, breathing the fragrant air. Gnarled firs and moss and wet earth, the scents of the wild. By the time he got back, Magne had dragged an old cupboard and several chairs outside. It was an unusually warm day and he was already a little sweaty, frowning in a way clearly meant to convey annoyance but landing on amused tolerance instead.

“You're not going to help at all, are you?”

Eyeing the pile of junk still residing in the cabin, Laurits shrugged.

“It's not like that's what we're really here for.”

It was a perfect opportunity, really, and even now Laurits congratulated himself on recognizing it as such when their Mom had explained this supposed punishment to them. Turid had had to drive them almost an hour down smaller and smaller roads to drop them off at the trail that led to the old cabin their grandfather had built. They were too far inland to see the sea and certainly far enough from any sign of civilization, so no one would notice the weather acting up. Although it was a shame to ruin such a nice day. Magne fidgeted, eyes scanning the cloudless sky.

“So should I just – do it?”

As it turned out, it wasn't that easy. Laurits first smoked a stolen cigarette and then ate an apple as he watched his brother try to call down lightning, which, really, sounded far more interesting than it actually was. Finally Magne dropped into the grass next to him with an exasperated huff.

“It's not working.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Flicking the core of his apple away, Laurits met his brother's glare with a blithe smile. Like he had any idea how precisely Thor's powers were supposed to work – or was to blame for the fact that a vengeful clan of giants was out for their blood. If anything, they ought to be grateful for this reprieve. The Jutuls had been lying low with Ran conspicuously absent and Fjor and Saxa keeping to themselves at school only to disappear the moment classes were over. Most worrying of all, there had been no word on Vidar. It was as if he had simply disappeared and not even the police seemed to have any news. Something would happen, though. It was only a matter of time.

Magne's failed attempt to harness his powers had left the air feeling heavy, oppressive, and suddenly the nervous energy that had been churning in Laurits's stomach all day and allowed him to match his brother's speed up the mountain seemed like it was about to boil over. Magne had slumped back, long legs stretched out in a careless sprawl. His eyes were half-closed and for a moment Laurits thought that he saw something bright in their depths. He moved without thinking, throwing one leg over his brother's hips and pressing his palm over the center of that broad chest.

“Wha-?”

“Shut up.”

Closing his eyes, Laurits drew a shaky breath. He could feel the flutter of Magne's heartbeat, the frantic rush of blood. The power was _there,_ trapped and coiling, all but overwhelming in its intensity. So what had gone wrong? What was missing? Then he knew. Mouth curling into his most wicked smile, Laurits tilted his head.

“We never did finish our conversation about fucking Fjor. Or would that be Fjor fucking me?”

And, whoa, that got a reaction all right. Instantly tension swept through that big body, eyes narrowing, growing fever-bright. Definitely a storm approaching. Laurits licked his lips, recklessly pushing on.

“Would you really expect me to resist? He's chosen such a pretty shape – and giants like to play rough. Oh, do you think Gry goes for that? She seems all sweet and quiet, but of course that doesn't say anything. Just think about what you'd like to do to me and-”

Thunder did rumble then and Laurits laughed as he was dragged down. “There you go,” he murmured against his brother's mouth. The power of a storm was roaring around them, wild and savage and perfect. Magne was shivering, eyes shot with lightning as his whole body tensed and, amusement fading, Laurits struggled to draw enough breath. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. Large hands gripped his thighs and slid to the swell of his ass with possessive ease. Not at all like the furtive touches they'd been stealing. Some half-known emotion clenched low in his stomach and, looking at Magne, Laurits stifled a gasp. He didn't say anything, unable to bring himself to give voice to any of the words fluttering through his mind like so many broken-winged birds. None of them were witty or clever or worth anything at all. Watching his brother's eyes fill with memories, Laurits found himself wanting to pull away. Magne was staring at him, through him, and there was no telling what he was seeing. Love. Battle and betrayal and the end of the world. Some stupid, scrawny kid trying to blink away tears. Laurits remembered being beautiful, lithe and long-limbed and effortlessly graceful. He remembered being able to change his appearance, take any shape that might add to their pleasure.

Finally those blue eyes focused. Incongruously, they were filled with relief. But of course the last time they had seen each other hadn't truly been the final night before the great battle. Laurits didn't like to remember the battlefield, the screams and the blood and the monstrous warriors on both sides. He didn't like to remember looking for Thor across an icy field strewn with bodies, glad to spot him from afar, head turning like he, too, was searching even as he threw himself at the enemy. He didn't like to remember pain ripping through him, leaving him carved open, empty of all thoughts except that somewhere too far away Thor had screamed and turned towards him. He didn't like to remember dying.

“Loki...”

Some vestige of pride or courage allowed Laurits to smile and tilt his head, tongue darting out to skim sharp teeth.

“Well, don't make it rain. I didn't climb this fucking mountain to get wet yet again.”

He wasn't sure which of them moved, but Magne's groan was muffled against his mouth and they were collapsing onto the grassy ground. Already half-frantic with need, Laurits rocked against the thigh pressing between his legs. In a way this had been building days, for weeks, and suddenly he couldn't wait a second longer. Then their hands were fumbling with belts and buttons and zips and it'd be so much easier to do this with more space between their bodies, but neither of them could bear to move away. It had been so long and he was burning, all but undone by the first brush of cock against cock. There wasn't time for anything subtle or complicated. Twisting his hips to get a little leeway, Laurits caught one of his brother's hands and laced their fingers together, creating a tight tunnel for them to thrust into. Even with precum slicking the way the friction was almost too much. There was no real rhythm to it, no sense of control as Magne wrapped his free arm around his waist and drew him closer still. They were breathing the same air, foreheads pressed together, and at any other time it would have been embarrassing to be this far gone this quickly. Now Laurits couldn't even start to care as his brother's grip tightened and pleasure sparked across his vision. Orgasm crashed through him with enough force to make his mind blank out.

Laurits blinked into a vast, distant sky ridden by storm clouds. His body felt boneless, utterly relaxed, and he didn't even mind that he couldn't really move. Magne was a heavy weight on top of him, face buried in the bend of his neck. When the other boy finally pushed himself up, those blue eyes were almost all pupil, wide and dazed.

“That was... Are you-?”

Memory, it seemed, was not much of a help finding words. Lips curling into a wicked smile, Laurits brought up the hand smeared with both their seed and studied it for a moment before wiping it on his brother's shirt.

“You might want to take that off before it gets any dirtier.”

The outrage on Magne's face was quickly replaced by stunned hunger when he realized where this was going. They shed the rest of their clothes in a tangle of limbs, need barely banked by their first hasty coupling. Twisting to kick off his shoes, Laurits froze as he stole a first glance. He had seen his brother naked, of course, and his memories were both intimate and detailed. This was something else. Magne's gangling frame seemed to have blended into the broad, strong lines of Thor's shoulders and chest. A younger version of the lover he had known, somehow more vulnerable, not yet battle-hardened. Laurits swallowed convulsively as his eyes were drawn down to the half-hard cock rising from its nest of blond curls. Need twisted in his belly, but for some reason he couldn't quite bring himself to move. Magne reached out instead, curious fingers tracing his jaw and neck before spreading out to settle over his heart.

“Loki _-_ ”

Laurits had always been able to read his brother, hear all the things Magne couldn't find the words to express. There was so much in that single word, love and fear and the bitterness of old anger and bone-deep need. Or perhaps it was simply that they both felt it, Laurits thought, uncomfortably aware of the way his traitorous heart was beating faster against the warmth of his brother's palm. He drew a shaky breath and blindly reached down to fish a small tube from the pocket of his discarded pants. It looked harmless in his hand, innocent enough to be held out like an offering.

“Then finish it, Thor. Since it seems to be so important to you to be the first to fuck this body.”

Magne all but snatched the tube from his outstretched palm and the quick leap of possessive triumph in his eyes was enough to draw a breathless little laugh from Laurits. Suddenly he felt lighter, oddly exhilarated and utterly unable not to add another teasing jibe.

“And here I was, worrying about your delicate sensibilities while all you were really thinking of was whether someone else got to fuck your little brother up the ass first.”

“Don't _say_ that.”

It turned out he didn't have to say anything else just then, because in spite of his instinctive denial Magne was pressing forward. Laurits shuddered as he let himself be pushed back, arms flung over his head, legs falling open in shameless invitation. The first slick touch trailing up the inside of his thigh sent another shiver down his spine. He didn't know what he had been expecting. Not the easy confidence of the hand briefly cupping his spent sex before dipping lower. Thor. Magne. There was no clear dividing line, he knew that, just as Laurits and Loki were merely two words for the same thing. And yet the first press of someone else's fingers against his hole _felt_ new, alien enough to make his hips jerk. His recent orgasm had left him languid, relaxed, but all the same his muscles tensed against the intrusion. The strangled noise seemed unnaturally loud in the still mountain air and it took a moment for Laurits to realize that it had come from his brother's throat. Magne was looking down at where his hand was lodged between pale thighs. To where his fingers hadn't quite stopped moving, twisting and driving until they were buried deep in clenching heat.

“Is it- Does it hurt?”

Huffing an impatient breath, Laurits shook his head. It wasn't an entirely new sensation, not even in this body, but Magne's fingers were thicker than his own, longer, able to reach so much deeper. The angle was different as well and he gasped as pleasure flared at the sudden drag of fingertips against just the right spot inside of him. Laurits bent his knees and pressed his feet into the ground, needing more leverage, something to anchor him against the sharp pleasure that kept flaring again and again. The fingers were sliding easily into him now, almost too gentle as they coaxed him open, and he found himself bucking up to get more and harder. The smell of crushed grass was rising around them and for a moment Laurits thought he could feel the thin layer of soil over rock and water, the restless, ageless land beneath them. It was fitting, he thought wildly even as he felt his body adjust to the press of a third finger. It was fitting that this should be done here. More than that, it was _right_ and, as his back arched in a sensual curve, he did feel beautiful. Stretched out and loose-limbed, sweat-slick skin gleaming, Laurits knew himself to be as desirable as he ever had been. How could he have forgotten? He could be anything he wanted to be. Everything was right there, the feeling, the sense of self he could draw into his bones and wrap around himself like a second skin. The very air seemed to shiver and he almost laughed at the strangled sound his brother made as he withdrew his fingers. Then Magne was above him, against him, so close he seemed to blot out the rest of the world. 

It was almost too easy, the way their bodies were coming together, lining up just right and Laurits couldn't help but squirm closer, legs spreading wider, hips lifting to aid the first push in. The rush of sensations was overwhelming and for a moment it was all he could do to draw shaky, gasping breaths as his muscles refused to obey. Magne was pressing forward, breath hot against the bend of his neck as he groaned his name – both names – over and over again. Every shift was jostling the hard cock in Laurits's ass, making his breath catch and his muscles clench in a way that was all invitation. All too soon he needed more, needed to _move_ , but with his brother's weight bearing down on him all he could do was squirm and moan and wrap his legs around Magne's waist in greedy encouragement. Not that much encouragement was needed. The small, tentative shifts were rapidly turning into thrusts and then it was every bit as good as he remembered, Thor's cock rutting relentlessly deep, all but fucking him into the ground. The sheer size and strength of that body, the crackle of lightning trapped in skin and blood and bone – all that power so tantalizingly close and focused on him and how could he have resisted this? Now or ever.

One of Magne's hands had closed around his wrist, squeezing hard enough to drive the beads of his bracelet into his skin as his arm was bent up and back. Laurits gasped as the strain on his shoulder made his back arch more sharply and suddenly the angle was just right and his cock was rubbing against Magne's belly and bright, fierce pleasure burst in his chest. After that, it was all fractured impressions. Being fucked through his orgasm, cockhead against prostate, drawing out the way his overtaxed nerves kept flaring. The slap of flesh against flesh, punctuated by harsh moans and gasping breaths. The way his brother – the way Thor – looked, flushed, mouth slack, hair sweaty and messy, gloriously wrecked. Another thrust, deep and grinding, just on this side of too much, followed by a broken groan as Magne's whole body tensed.

He was not at all comfortable. Laurits wriggled and shoved until he felt that he could breathe, suppressing a hiss as his brother's softening cock slipped from his body. He was sticky and sore, thighs and belly smeared with cum – he had never felt better. Belatedly mumbling an apology, Magne rolled off him. Stretching like a contented cat, Laurits allowed himself to be gathered close, allowed the possessive sweep of hands over his body. Shoulder and flank and hip and back up again, lingering caresses like Magne meant to brand his touch into every inch of skin. Seeking memory and making it anew. When one of those big hands settled on the curve of his ass, Laurits found himself wondering idly whether they might manage another round before they had to hike back to the road. They could have lunch first. There were soft drinks and sandwiches in one of the backpacks. Warm breath stirred his hair, almost a sigh. Sensing impending disaster, Laurits reached up and clapped his hand over his brother's mouth.

“Don't. You'll just fuck things up. I'm good. We're good.”

And somehow, for the moment at least, they were. Something light and strange fluttered in Laurits's stomach as he felt a small kiss being pressed into his palm. For a moment he even considered telling Magne about the new sense of possibilities under his skin, but he wasn't that lost to himself. Instead, he brushed sweaty hair from his brother's forehead, a playful touch that might have been considered soothing.

“You know that Mom said we're to keep working on the cabin until we've learned our lesson. Out here … just the two of us. You could do anything you want to me. What with the way you've regained all those powers, I couldn't possibly stop you from acting out every filthy, depraved fantasy you've ever had. Just a little something to think about.”

That got him a shocked gasp that was so sweetly Magne, he might have laughed if it hadn't been for the way the hand on his ass simultaneously gripped tight. Mouth curling into a secret smile, Laurits once more looked up at the sky. Edda wasn't such a bad place. They could be Magne and Laurits and Thor and Loki and who was to say what else. There were frost giants to fight, powers to harness and later – much later – an entire world waiting to be rediscovered. Things were definitely promising. Not settled. Not stable in any way. But very promising indeed.

The End


End file.
